


The Library

by the_bi_banker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3591090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bi_banker/pseuds/the_bi_banker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is awful at romance, and Mycroft Holmes is awful at people in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Library

Mycroft carefully slotted Jean Penser’s novel between novels by an Erin Pelly and a Dan Pewter. He liked categorising the library books. Everything has its place; it was simply a matter of putting them there.

_Everything has its place indeed_ , he thought to himself. He automatically glanced over to the table in the back corner of the library before turning to the next shelf. _And a popular, handsome, tearaway student’s place is not in the dullest part of a public library._

This was a puzzle that had been disconcerting Mycroft for exactly three weeks, ever since the leader of the “Yarders” had turned up to the library alone and wasted a good number of hours doing seemingly nothing. Usually Mycroft paid no attention to those visiting the library, but he did keep tabs on anyone his brother associated with for more than a day. He liked to be able to deal with any threat in case they started acting strangely.

Greg Lestrade was certainly acting strangely, though it didn’t seem to be having any effect on Sherlock. Currently it was just a nuisance – an irregularity that Mycroft couldn’t categorise anywhere. He went over the possibilities again, discarding each one as soon he thought it.

It’s not as though the inner workings of the minds of the goldfish in his year usually interested Mycroft, but he was used to knowing them. Something that did not come to him in a second-long deduction was bound to nestle itself into that place in the back of his mind that was most irritable.

So there he was, shelving library books and obsessing over a boy he hadn’t spoken to since Sherlock introduced them two years ago.

 

* * *

 

Greg sighed and shut the book he was attempting to read. Why was he still doing this? Wasting valuable hours of his Saturday. He’d never work up the courage to talk to him.

His fingers stroked the cover of _Mellow Moonlight_ while his thoughts moved far away. _I’m Greg Lestrade. This shouldn’t be so hard._

But it was. Romance was never his forte. His cheating ex-girlfriend was the one who had to end it, after months. He’d never had another girlfriend, despite the crowd of admirers Sally insisted he had. And flirting was a foreign concept to him.

Of course, his lack of romance skills wasn’t the only reason he felt more nervous right now than he usually felt in a year. Mycroft Holmes was not the sort of person you just talked to. He was the sort of person you could feel silently judging you for what you hadn’t even said yet.

Greg sighed again and pushed himself up. He glanced over to where Mycroft was shelving books, but turned away. He wandered back over to the young adult fiction, feeling only slightly self-conscious as he looked through the numerous romance novels. It was good that his friends generally avoided the library – “Crusty old place”, Sally had called it. Greg was glad they wouldn’t see him at this low.

The only time they’d gone was a month ago, for half an hour. In that time they’d managed to insult every young adult novel in the place, squash all the cushions, almost make a three-year-old cry, apologise a million times to his mother, break a chair, and get kicked out for talking too loudly. Greg had also managed to develop a massive crush on the cute librarian behind the desk, though that wasn’t a public achievement.

_It’s not really an achievement at all. I can’t even talk to him._

So there he was, flipping through library books and obsessing over a boy he hadn’t spoken to since Sherlock introduced them two years ago.

 

* * *

  

Molly neatly folded the newspaper and placed it back on the shelf. She took out the one beside it, opening it and turning to the back. Smoothing out the obituary page, she started to read it.

She’d started reading the obituaries of newspapers because she felt sad that so few people read that page. The recently dead barely got any recognition. After coming across one that was particularly gruesome, she decided to collect the interesting ones. She ran out of newspapers in her house, so she went to the library for more.

A loud thumping noise distracted her from her thoughts. She looked up to see one of the prefects from her school lying on the ground, covered in library books. A giggle escaped her lips as she rushed over to help him. She started collecting the books as the boy struggled up.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. He took some of the books off her and started shelving them haphazardly. “Turns out there’s a limit to the number of books I can carry.”

Molly laughed nervously and wondered how to politely excuse herself. She wasn’t very good with talking to people, especially not senior boys she didn’t know.

“I’m Greg, by the way,” he told her, taking the last books out of her hands. “Though most people call me Lestrade.”

“What? Why?” Molly was confused as to how those two names had any connection.

Lestrade shrugged. “I dunno why I started going by my last name –” _Ah_ , Molly thought, “ – but that’s what everyone calls me – even the teachers.”

“Even your mother?” Lestrade laughed. “Well no, it’s ‘disappointment’ at home.”

Molly was concerned, but he was laughing, so she hoped it was a joke. "I'm Molly," she offered.

"That's a nice name," Lestrade said, turning to survey his success at shoving all the books in one place.

“What were you doing with all those books?” Molly wasn’t sure why she was carrying on the conversation. She wanted to get back to her obituaries.

“Oh, y’know. Looking for a book good enough to keep my attention or bad enough to make fun of.”

Molly smiled knowingly.

“Do you have any favourites?” Lestrade continued.

“Oh.” Molly thought for a moment. “You wouldn’t like anything I like.”

“Try me,” he grinned.

“Okay, well…” She turned to the shelf and quickly scanned for a book she knew. “I really like this one,” she said, pulling out _Love Knows_ and showing it to him.

Lestrade took it from her and turned it over. “Romance, I gather?”

Molly nodded, and quickly added, “But not cheesy romance – it’s really well written!”

Lestrade looked at it again. “Well, then I’ll try it. Thanks,” he smiled. After a pause, he asked “What are you doing in the library?”

“Oh, uh, reading the newspaper.”

“Hmm? Why?” “I’m collecting obituaries,” she responded, and then winced. _Why did I admit that?_

“Obituaries? The dead people column?”

“Uh, yeah.” Molly hurriedly tried to explain herself. “Not all of them, just the ones that are funny. Or interesting.”

“Funny obituaries? Like what?”

Molly hesitated for a moment before leading him to where she was sitting. She opened the newspaper to where she had it before.

“Most of them are, well, normal, but then you get some like this.” She pointed to one of the sections and handed it to Lestrade.

“Donald Howard, aged 82”, he read, “died peacefully in his sleep. He will be dearly missed by his wife, Rachael Howard. His jokes, however, will not.”

Molly giggled lightly and took back the paper. “It’s interesting when you think about it. Did he just tell really corny jokes? Or jokes that weren’t actually funny? Or maybe he told offensive jokes. Or maybe he told a joke that got himself or someone else in trouble? Maybe he was just a comedian and this is an inside joke of theirs. Or maybe…” she trailed off as she realised she was rambling.

“That _is_ interesting,” Lestrade grinned.

Molly couldn’t detect any sarcasm in his voice, so she smiled back. “Yeah.”

Lestrade held up the book he was holding. “I might start this now. Can I sit with you? I’ve been the loner in the corner for too long.”

“Oh, sure!”

They both sat down and settled into their reading. However, Molly couldn’t help noticing that Lestrade wasn’t really committed to the book.

“Who’s the librarian you keep looking at?” she asked after a while.

To her surprise, Lestrade went bright red. “Er, I wasn’t looking at the librarian, I was looking at, er, the poster over there.”

“The maths poster?”

“Uh, yeah. Long division.”

Molly gives him a knowing look. “Well, do you know the librarian?”

Lestrade sighed. “That’s Mycroft Holmes. He –”

“Mycroft Holmes? As in Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah. His brother.”

“Oh.” Molly was intrigued. She turned to look at the librarian properly. “He’s not as good-looking as his brother,” she noted. Her face went bright red as she realised she’d said it out loud. She quickly looked back down at her newspaper.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “The Holmes bug bit you too, eh?”

“So you admit you were staring at the librarian?” Molly said without looking up.

“Happens to the best of us,” Lestrade replied nonchalantly.

Molly peeked at him through her lashes. “Why don’t you go talk to him then?”

“Well, uh…” Molly looked up properly as Lestrade trailed off. “I don’t know,” he answered finally.

Before Molly could respond, Lestrade brought the book up to his face. They didn’t talk again until Molly had to leave.

“It was nice meeting you,” she said as she picked up her bag.

“Same here. Thanks for the recommendation, by the way.” He indicated the book in his hands.

“You like it?” Molly was surprised.

“Yeah. Not cheesy at all.”

They smiled at each other.

“Well, see you,” she said, and made her way out.

 

* * *

 

It was getting later, and the crowd in the library was thinning. People, including the girl Lestrade was talking to, were starting to leave. The odd person came in, but they almost always went quickly. This was usually the time Mycroft started his own reading, because they rarely had to deal with anything the older librarians couldn’t handle.

However, today Mycroft decided to use this time to ease his mind. He was going to talk to Lestrade and get the answer to the puzzle he couldn’t solve, and hopefully also figure out why this even was a puzzle.

After two more people left, Mycroft slid into the chair the girl was sitting in twenty two minutes previous.

“Hello,” he said, because that was how people started conversations.

Lestrade jumped and almost dropped the book in his hands. “Uh, hi,” he said.

“Are you enjoying the book you are reading?”

Lestrade looked back down at the book, as if the answer was written on the next page. “Uh, yeah. I am.”

“Oh good,” Mycroft said off-handedly. “What’s it about?”

“You’re a Holmes. Can’t you figure out the ending from the back cover?”

Mycroft turned sharply to look at Lestrade, who was smirking.

“Some things, Lestrade,” he put a slight emphasis on the name, “even I cannot deduce.”

“Bollocks. Like what?” Lestrade said incredulously.

“Like why you remember my name even though we’ve only met once, two years ago?” Mycroft suggested.

Lestrade leaned back on his chair. “You don’t just forget meeting a Holmes brother. And you especially don’t forget the shocking black outfit you were wearing that day.”

“You must be mistaken. I never wear black,” Mycroft said haughtily.

“Are you sure?” Lestrade grinned. “Sherlock seemed to go on and on about how many dark items of clothing you had, and the eyeliner, and the countless number of–”

Mycroft shot him an _Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?_ look, and he wisely changed tack.

“I must say, I prefer the outfits you wear now days. They suit you.”

Lestrade went slightly pink, obviously realising what he’d. Commenting on someone else’s clothing must not be a common occurrence in the life of someone like Lestrade, Mycroft mused.

There was a pause. “Oh, thank you,” he replied, slightly too late, and fiddled with his bowtie. To recover, he added, “Your outfits, however, always seem to lack a certain something. Maybe a hoodie?”

“That was one time!” Lestrade protested.

One of Lestrade’s friends had given everyone in their gang matching hoodies at school last year. Sherlock was the only one to refuse to wear his (it still hung in his wardrobe though) but the others still refused to speak of it afterwards.

Mycroft smirked, but he moved on. “You never told me what your book is about.”

Lestrade hesitated. “Well, uh, it’s a romance, between a policeman and a politician.”

“Do you often read romance novels?”

“Oh – no!” Lestrade said defensively. “It was recommended to me.”

“But you’re enjoying it?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Don’t feel you can’t do something you enjoy just because people may judge you for it.”

Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Mycroft asked.

“You’re, like, the king of judging people.”

Mycroft waved a hand nonchalantly. “I judge people for being stupid, not for enjoying something.”

“Am _I_ stupid?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Lestrade chuckled at this. Mycroft found himself smiling back. It wasn’t the reaction he usually got when talking to people. Then again, he didn’t talk to people often.

After talking for a while longer, Mycroft realised it was getting later. Soon the library would be closed. He decided to cut to the chase.

“So, what brings you to the library?”

Lestrade started fidgeting with the novel in front of him. “Oh, y’know…” Mycroft looked at him expectantly. “Er, books!”

Mycroft continued to watch him, waiting for him to explain.

“Uh, I’ve been looking for a book to read. A good one.”

“For three weeks?”

Lestrade went red. “Yeah?”

At least it wasn’t something _obvious_ that Mycroft had missed. Lestrade wouldn’t be hiding it if it was.

“You’re a terrible liar, Lestrade.”

“I wasn’t lying!”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows at him.

“Okay, I was, but it’s none of your business.” Lestrade said the last part so quickly Mycroft almost missed it.

“Lestrade,” Mycroft started, but the boy was already getting up.

“Anyway, I have to go now – the library closes soon.”

“I’ll see you at school?” Mycroft hoped he hadn’t insulted Lestrade so much he refused to –

“Sure,” Lestrade shrugged, interrupting Mycroft’s thoughts. He walked off, leaving _Love Knows_ on the table.

Mycroft watched Lestrade leave the library, then turned to stare accusingly at the forsaken novel. This mystery was taking much longer to solve than previously anticipated. As one of the other librarians called out that closing time was in fifteen minutes, Mycroft surveyed what he had learnt from the conversation. Lestrade didn’t want him to know why he was coming to the library. Coming because of a passion for books was definitely ruled out. Lestrade had awful lying skills. And, most surprisingly, Mycroft found he had enjoyed their conversation.

 

* * *

 

Greg cursed himself as he left the library. He’d chickened out. It was going so well – or as well as it could have, with a Holmes – and he’d still chickened out.

Looking down at his hands, he realised he’d left the book behind. He considered going back to get it; deliberating for the better part of ten minutes, leaning against the library wall as people continued milling out.

Ultimately, he decided against it. He’d then have to explain why he rushed out, which wasn’t an ideal prospect. As Mycroft had so kindly pointed out, he was an awful liar.

Despite having chosen not to return, Greg couldn’t seem to make himself leave, and so he stayed there, leaning against the wall, growing colder by the minute, and cursing himself. He barely noticed that the librarians had also started leaving until one of them called his name.

Greg jumped, and turned to Mycroft.

“Did you come back for your book? Here; I checked it out for you.”

Mycroft held out _Love Knows_. Greg shook himself out of his shock and stepped over to take it.

“I was going to give it to you at school. It’s out in your name, but I could return it for you if you would like,” Mycroft added.

There were several things that Greg could have said then - _thank you_ being an obvious choice - but there was really only one thing on Greg’s mind, and that was the only thing that came out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna go out, maybe, sometime?” he asked hurriedly, the words tripping over his tongue.

A crease formed between Mycroft’s eyebrows and Greg was worried he’d have to repeat what he said. However, a few seconds later Mycroft’s mouth opened in a soft ‘oh’, and then his features smoothed out and he smiled at Greg.

“I would very much enjoy that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely _[thegigantichound](http://thegigantichound.tumblr.com/)_


End file.
